


Stranger Ranger

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Aragorn in disguise, Brothels, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, M/M, One Night Stands, Rangers, Young Faramir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: When Faramir, the Steward's son, a young man on the cusp of joining the Gondorian army under his brother's wing, has to wait for Boromir in front of a brothel, he makes a friend. Strider is mysterious, handsome and has the aura of authority to him that makes young Faramir re-think some parts of his life... It also makes him want different things. Things Strider seems to long for, too.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	Stranger Ranger

**Author's Note:**

> MermaidSheenaz kept an eye on me while writing that bit, making sure I didn't screw up. Le hannon, Hir nin! <3 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy a story of how young Faramir met Strider who later became his king!

“You’ll see, brother! You’re going to enjoy yourself!” Boromir grinned - nay, _leered_ \- at him, and Faramir shrugged, eyeing the people around. 

They were in the _Daisy Garden,_ an establishment notorious for neither daisies nor gardens. There were a few beautiful flowers here, though, walking around and smiling seductively at every male who had enough money to even enter the building. Faramir winced when one of the girls sent a kiss his way, batting her eyelashes in a clear attempt at flirting. 

“I’m not convinced, Boromir,” he muttered, low so he wouldn’t upset the owner, a woman around fifty with her face painted in all manner of colors, looking almost as if she was working in a Harad circus. She was clearly in charge here, handing out drinks and pointing the rooms, and Faramir tried hard not to think about what was going on behind closed doors. 

He was twenty, his brother only five years older, and they shouldn’t even _be_ here. And for entirely different reasons than one might think - his brother was well on his way to be promoted to a captain in record time, and such establishments were not something a young man of certain pedigree should frequent. As for him, Faramir wasn’t in the army yet… actually he was on the brink of joining Boromir’s unit.

When his brother had come back to the citadel a few days ago, a short break for rest before another campaign took him to some remote part of Gondor, Faramir had shared his plans with him. He was not entirely certain what he wanted to do with his life, but he had a certain skill in archery, he was not useless with a sword and, while old books and the knowledge of the lore was what brought him the biggest joy, he knew that his father would never approve of him being only a scholar. That’s where the idea of joining Boromir’s unit had come in, and had been enthusiastically received by his brother. 

Enthusiastically enough, that Boromir wanted to show him the ins and outs of being a Soldier of Gondor… and here they were, in a brothel - the most expensive brothel in Minas Tirith, but a brothel nevertheless - and Faramir wasn’t sure what he should do. The numerous women they had encountered inside were pretty - aye! - but they were nothing he wanted or needed. Indeed, when presented with a choice, Faramir would much rather go for a stable boy than a rosy-cheeked girl, something that was not a quality one announced to the whole world. Nobody paid any attention to two lads groping each other in a darkened alley, but the expectations placed upon the Sons of the Steward were higher and more family-oriented. Or _heir-oriented,_ in any case. 

“I paid for you also, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Boromir announced, breaking Faramir out of his thoughts. His brother’s friends, five bulky soldiers of different ranks, were busy entertaining themselves and the ladies, their focus eaten up so completely that Faramir doubted they would even see any potential danger if it arose. But, the soldiers’ busy hands gave him and Boromir a sense of privacy - well, as much as could be found in a house like this one. 

“Paid?” Faramir frowned, looking at his brother questioningly.   
“Yah. You can pick any girl that shakes your pants, dear brother, and take her to one of the rooms. Everything has been paid for in advance, so you can do whatever you want!” 

The look on his face must have been comical, because Boromir laughed merrily and clapped him on the back. A wink to one of the scantily clad women, a winning smile to another, and Boromir was walking down the corridor, disappearing behind heavy drapes blocking the view, followed by two sets of swaying hips. Faramir groaned, turning away and lowering his head to the top of the bar. He was considering banging it against the smooth surface a few times to clear it, but a voice sounding directly above him stopped those silly thoughts.   
“So, no girl caught yer eye, huh?” 

Abruptly, Faramir straightened up, biting his tongue when he discovered that it was the owner who was talking to him.   
“Not quite…” he muttered, casting a glance around the room, noticing that most of Boromir’s soldiers were nowhere to be seen.   
“It’s fine, sunshine, no need ta worry. Ya just need to relax a bit, huh?” The woman asked with a knowing smile, and Faramir groaned again. He wanted to get out of here, even the air seemed sticky with the overwhelming sweetness of the perfume. 

“Can make ya a cup o’ tea, if ya want,” the owner went on, and he shook his head mutely. Tea was infinitely too weak to sustain him on this night. The woman eyed him, then reached underneath the bar, retrieving a bottle. “Or somethin’ stronger, perhaps?”   
“How much?” Faramir was ready to pay double for the bottle of mead presented to him, but the owner just grinned and handed it over.   
“If yer not gonna have a go at the girls, at least drink something good. ‘S on the house, that young soldier paid for it already.” 

Nodding in thanks, making a silent note to praise his brother’s insight later, Faramir grabbed the bottle and uncorked it, taking a hearty swing. The mead was sweet and heavy on his tongue, the smell of alcohol alone almost potent enough to make him drunk. After a bit of consideration - and a few leery smiles from the girls - Faramir decided to continue drinking outside. He walked out swiftly, directing his steps to a tree growing nearby, hoping that the grass underneath it would be comfortable enough to spend a few hours sitting on. 

-&\- 

Aragorn was not entirely happy with the way the evening had turned out. Halbarad going to the whorehouse he could stand, he was his friend after all, but the light drizzle falling endlessly from the sky dampened his spirits considerably. Thank the Valar for the dense canopy of leaves shielding him from the rain! 

He was huddled underneath a tree, his cloak wrapped tightly around him to keep the warmth as close as possible. It was going to be a cold evening and he hoped that his fellow ranger wouldn’t be long. Then again, _long_ was a very loose term when it came to Halbarad. Aragorn could still remember with vivid details the night when his dear friend had declared himself helplessly in love, a confession after which he had disappeared inside the brothel and proceeded to woo the lass that had caught his eye. She was a true nymph, as Halbarad had stated, and while Aragorn could understand him falling in love, he didn’t get the reasoning behind spending a whole night inside a brothel at all. Unless a mildly-comfortable bed was what Halbarad was after, then it actually made a whole lot of sense. 

Sighing, steeling himself for a long evening, Aragorn took out his pipe and lit it, hoping it wouldn’t bring any unwanted attention his way. He was walking the streets as Strider these days, a disguise he shrugged on as easily as his worn-out coat, and it would be a shame to ruin it by an untimely recognition of his face. After a moment of smoking, when the glowing bowl of his pipe started to turn people’s heads his way, he reached up and pulled his hood a bit lower. He was halfway done with this portion of the Longbottom Leaves, when a figure walked out of the establishment and strode forward, determination visible in the man’s features as clearly as if it had been daylight around them. 

Aragorn had seen him before, about half an hour earlier, when he had arrived with a few other men. Going by their bearing and clear physical strength, Aragorn would have wagered that they were soldiers looking for some uncomplicated pleasure. This man, however, was younger than all his companions, and even though the difference was not great, it was easily noticeable. 

Wondering who the man in front of him was, Aragorn watched his approach, frowning when the soldier stopped abruptly upon noticing him. He had a bottle of some kind of liquor in his hand, an ocean of fiery hair, and the most crystal-blue eyes Aragorn had ever seen in a Man or an Elf. Intrigued by the way they shone in the near-darkness around them, Aragorn jerked his head up in a semblance of greeting.   
“‘Tis a night too cold to be wandering at such an hour,” he said, hoping that the young man would come closer still. The soldier hesitated, then grinned, his feet moving forward once again.   
“Coming from a man sitting on the cold ground… I’ll take my chances,” the soldier answered, and Aragorn smirked.   
“They say company can make you warmer,” he retorted when the young man was standing in front of him at last, his height enough to make Aragorn tilt his head a bit.   
“As well as good mead does.” And with that, the soldier reached out and offered the bottle to him. 

-&-

Faramir was not sure what prompted him to take the spot next to the stranger, but once he did, he deemed it a good choice almost instantly. There was a curious sort of aura around the man, something not easily defined that permeated the very air around him, and Faramir found himself drawn to it like a moth to a brightly lit candle. The man took a few gulps from the proffered bottle, then handed it back, curiosity shining in his gray eyes.   
“What does a soldier do _outside_ such a fine establishment?” He asked, the tone of his voice betraying his amusement. Faramir winced and took a sip of the mead before answering.   
“I’m waiting for my brother… and I’m not a soldier yet.”   
“A soldier in the making, then,” the stranger stated, his lips curving into a smile around his pipe.   
“And how do you know that?” Faramir questioned, more amused than irritated. The ground under his backside was cold, but the rain didn’t reach him under the dense leaves, and the alcohol slowly spreading through him made him feel a bit warmer.   
“Why else would you be here with the lot of them?”   
“Maybe I just like to buy mead in brothels?” 

There was a pause, before the man threw his head back laughing merrily, his eyes narrowing in mirth. Faramir watched him, taking in the angular shape of his face, the hollows of his cheeks and the unkempt stubble that was well on its way to a full beard. Even in the shadows surrounding them, the man looked attractive, and Faramir had to bite his lip to stop his imagination from getting out of hand. 

“Why are _you_ here, though? Are you a soldier also?” He asked, aiming for humorous, but was rendered silent when the man nodded his head.   
“I am. Not in the way you think, though. I’m a ranger and, believe it or not, I’m waiting for my friend.”   
“Oh,” Faramir murmured, processing the information. Rangers were dangerous folk, but they always proved themselves in dire straits. There were many different units, protecting the borders of Gondor and Rohan, some of them even keeping their watch at the far north. In conflicts, they had always supported the right kingdom - right from Faramir’s perspective, at least, or that was what was written in the old tomes gathering dust in the citadel's library. With this sliver of knowledge, Faramir felt himself relax a bit further, certain now that the man, while still possibly dangerous, would not seek out to harm him. He had a reputation to uphold, as evidenced by the silver star pinning his cloak in place, shining proudly on his left shoulder. He was sure that it was a symbol of the man’s unit, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember which unit carried such intricate stars. 

“You think a lot,” the stranger observed, and Faramir’s eyes wandered to his, before he cast his gaze forward hurriedly. He took a swing from the bottle, then passed it over, enjoying the burn on his tongue.   
“I was just wondering about this meeting of ours. Two almost-soldiers, sitting under a tree… ‘tis no usual occurrence!”   
“Aye. I don’t make a habit of waiting outside brothels, but I think it may change soon.” The man said with a sigh so weary that Faramir felt it in his own body. When his eyes betrayed the questions swirling inside his mind - his natural curiosity coming forward - the stranger smirked.   
“My friend, the one that ventured inside, has fallen in love with one of the girls working here. He has fallen as hard as one falls into the troubled waters of Anduin and I see no escape for him.” He stated seriously, but the absurdity of the story soon had them both giggling, passing over the bottle again. The pipe was re-lit and the rain above their heads stopped its incessant dripping, allowing the night around to settle with silent peace. In the unexpectedly comfortable stillness around them, Faramir found himself speaking, his eyes following the smoke curling around the figure sitting next to him. 

“My brother wanted me to see with my own eyes the joys of being a Gondorian soldier…” he started, trying hard not to wince at the memory of the numerous hands pawing at his clothes right after he had stepped over the threshold of _Daisy._   
“And? Did you enjoy the experience?” The stranger asked, his smirk telling Faramir that the nature of his answer was already anticipated.   
“No. I fear that if army consists of fighting and buying pleasures, it is a direction I do not wish to follow.”   
“I see nothing wrong with either, if it’s what a man’s heart desires,” the stranger said wistfully, making Faramir pause and look at him. 

The hood he was wearing had slipped off a bit, revealing a mess of dark hair falling around his face. Those eyes, glittering in the meager light coming from the nearby windows, were like two dark pools, beckoning Faramir to take a jump and drown in them.   
“And what if a man’s heart desires neither?” Faramir found himself saying, surprised that the words escaped him without notice. “What if the everyday clash of swords, nor the soft shape of a woman’s body lures him in?” 

The stranger gave him a long look, one that seemed to reach deep into Faramir’s very soul. He stood - or rather _sat_ \- his ground and waited, trying not to let his gaze flow down and get stuck on those slightly moist lips. He wondered whether the man’s mouth would taste like the mead they shared, or like the pipe he was smoking. 

“Maybe long patrols and harder pleasures could lure him in?” The man retorted after a while, his voice quiet but strong, his eyes never leaving Faramir’s face. His unnerving gaze was enough to set Faramir’s insides on fire. He had had a few passing adventures with the most trusted stable boys, but nothing compared to the intensity of the stare he was being gifted with. Fighting not to groan at the images his overeager mind painted for his own enjoyment, Faramir bit his lip hard enough to feel the pain of it. 

If he thought that it would stop the fire growing deep in the pit of his stomach, he was sorely mistaken. The only thing his action achieved was the stranger’s gaze sliding lazily down, until it landed on the abused lip. Slowly, oh so slowly, the man put aside his pipe, then turned to face Faramir. His hand went up hesitatingly, until it landed on Faramir’s shoulder, fingers skimming over the surface of his thick tunic and the leather vest he was wearing, a thoughtful look upon his face.   
“If the soldier’s life holds little appeal to you, maybe you would enjoy being a ranger instead?” The man murmured, his fingers tightening briefly, before they relaxed again. “Of course, a ranger needs a certain amount of strength to withstand the wilderness around him… quick wits and some dose of character not to let his duty intimidate him…”   
“What is there to gain?” Faramir asked quietly, feeling himself blush when those strong fingers traveled upwards and slid along the side of his neck, sending sparks thundering down his spine. The stranger’s gray gaze flicked between Faramir’s eyes and his mouth, before one thumb gently touched his lower lip, no doubt tracing the teeth marks left there.   
“Freedom.” The whisper no sooner reached Faramir’s ears, than the man was leaning forward and touching their mouths together in a tentative kiss.

-&-

The young soldier fell utterly still under Aragorn’s hands, and for a moment, he was afraid that the man would bolt. He wasn’t worried about any lack of interest, not with the way the man’s eyes had kept on following him earlier, but the possibility of running away was still quite possible. After all, he didn’t know that Aragorn considered himself an honest and an honourable man, one that would never hurt another without a good reason. And this young man Aragorn wanted to gift only with pleasure - there was something so magical about him, an air of ancient times speaking through him, that Aragorn found himself utterly bewitched. On any other evening, presented with a person as willing as this young soldier was, he would offer some quick relief and mutual enjoyment. _This man, though?_ He brought fire as hot and bright as the furnaces of Erebor had once been, flowing through Aragorn’s veins like molten rocks on Mount Doom. So he had leaned in and kissed him, slowly and softly, hoping to convey his needs in such a simple way. 

Too simple, maybe, for the man seemed frozen in place. 

Feeling strangely defeated, Aragorn drew away, his mind busy trying to form an apology to be used if needed, when a hand sneaked around his neck and cool fingers twisted in his hair. The young man let out a small sound, barely a huff of air escaping him, but in it a tiny moan was hiding, and Aragorn felt his blood boil. Burning, feeling unexpectedly hot in the cold evening, Aragorn dove back in, this time not even attempting to stop himself. 

An enthusiastic groan welcomed his tongue inside that warm mouth, and he let it roam around, tasting the mead they had shared earlier, absentmindedly hoping the rest of it was not flooding their clothes right now from an upturned bottle forgotten somewhere in the grass. 

The young man’s body was coming to life against him, waking from the surprise and recovering its strength, and Aragorn couldn’t be more pleased when he felt the muscles strain against his hold, lean hips arching up into his questing touch. A few panting breaths laced with moans marked his teeth scraping over the lean neck, and soon, Aragorn was pulling away, his hand lingering between the man’s thighs.   
“Do you want to-” he didn’t have this planned. It all proved to be quite difficult to ask somebody to your bed when all your mind was capable of doing was providing explicit images that would make a seasoned whore blush. Thankfully, the young man saved him all the trouble, for he leaned up and captured his mouth in a biting kiss, whispering a small “please” right before he slipped his tongue into Aragorn’s mouth. 

The ranger allowed it, temporarily struck blind by the passion he felt, before he disentangled himself rather forcefully.   
“Not like this. Come,” he prompted, getting up, cursing his unsteady legs when his body swayed a bit. After adjusting his cloak, he collected his pipe and, leaving the bottle of mead forgotten in the grass, offered the young man a hand. The soldier took it and let himself be pulled to his feet, before he followed Aragorn down a narrow street nearby. 

-&-

Their travel ended in a small room above a shady tavern. Faramir let himself be led through the tiny corridor, until they paused in front of a heavy door. The time that it took for the ranger to produce his key was enough to make him a bit nervous but, thankfully, his companion must have had an insight into his mind, because he pressed him into the doorframe for a reassuring kiss. The way their hips ground together, mindlessly seeking pleasure, was enough to encourage Faramir to step over the threshold and close the door behind them. One thing kept nagging at him, though, and while the mysterious man busied himself with lighting a few candles on the table next to the bed, Faramir finally gathered enough wits to regain control over his tongue. 

“What is your name?” He asked quietly, mindful of the possible occupants of the other rooms around them. The stranger turned to him and unclasped his cloak with practiced ease, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped over the material and towards Faramir, taking his face in his hands in a gesture that was almost endearingly careful.   
“I’m called Strider,” he answered and Faramir commited the name to his memory, turning it around in his mind a few times to try it out. A kiss pressed to his lips soon rendered his thoughts useless, and he let himself be carried away on a wave of pleasure. 

“And what should I call you?” Strider inquired, detaching himself from Faramir’s lips.   
“Mir.” It was a name given to him by Boromir, used often when he was being a bit too mischievous when getting into trouble with his brother. It seemed fitting to use it now, for some reason, and Faramir wondered briefly what Boromir would say if he saw him now… 

“Mir. A _jewel…_ how fitting,” the man whispered with a grin. And then, there was no time to think about his brother, because Strider was pulling him away from the door and towards the small bed, undoing the laces on his vest as they went. Soon enough, he was divested of everything but his smallclothes, his own hands busy taking everything off his companion. Strider didn’t seem to possess an ounce of shame as he shrugged out of his robes, his mouth coming back to Faramir’s and claiming it with deep kisses. His hands roamed Faramir’s back, blunt nails scraping over every rib and vertebrae they encountered, and Faramir found himself moaning louder than was wise under the circumstances. Strider didn’t seem to mind, though, grinning at him wolfishly, before he directed his kisses down Faramir’s neck, following the curving muscles on his chest and abdomen, until he could dip his tongue into his navel. 

It took Faramir an embarrassingly long time to realize that the man was kneeling before him, and for some reason, this position seemed utterly _wrong,_ but for the life of him Faramir couldn’t tell _why._ All thoughts of propriety fled his head when, a few scant seconds later, his underpants were pulled down and he was swallowed by wet heat, his knees buckling on the first contact. Somehow, he managed to stay upright, but only until Strider’s hands started to travel over his body, sneaking between his buttocks and rubbing against his opening. 

When Faramir’s legs gave in, it was with a moan dragged from him, and he slid down, expecting to find himself on the cold floor. Instead, his ass met the cool sheets stretched over a lumpy mattress as he plopped down on the bed behind him, his manhood slipping free of the ranger’s skilled mouth. Strider looked up at him and gave a short laugh, merriment more than amusement at his predicament, before he helped Faramir free his feet from the rest of his clothes bunched up around his ankles. 

Once they were both naked, the ranger urged him further up the bed until he could crawl over him and settle with one leg between Faramir’s, their lengths brushing together and making the young man bite his lip hard. He was drowning in a sea of pleasure, and he was not sure how much more of this sweet torture he could stand. Strider was kissing his neck, nibbling on the skin and soothing the sting with tender swipes of his tongue, and the sensation of it had Faramir squirming under him. It prompted the man to cant his hips forward, following a mindless rhythm as his kisses grew more urgent. His fingers found their way between Faramir’s buttocks again, rubbing against his opening until Faramir was sure he was going to go mad from desire. 

Pushing the ranger away slightly, he twisted around until he was on his hands and knees, then looked back pleadingly.   
“Come on…”   
“Mir,” Strider paused, his hawk-like eyes boring into Faramir’s over his shoulder, and he felt a shiver raking his whole frame.   
“I’m not going to break,” he muttered, reaching back and tugging Strider closer, until he could feel the hot length of his flesh, hard and throbbing against his buttock. “I’ve done this before.” 

But Strider didn’t move, save for his hands quivering on Faramir's hips.   
“Clearly not with someone competent,” he commented dryly after a long moment of silence. Faramir frowned, then bucked back, attempting to keep them going, searching for some kind of relief before he burned alive. 

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around his chest, the heat of Strider’s manhood pressed against the cleft of his ass, his weight falling on Faramir’s back without warning.   
“This what you want?” He huffed right into Faramir’s ear, licking the shell before he bit on the lobe. Faramir jerked in his grasp, a noise escaping him that sounded strangely animal-like. Strider growled and rocked against him, rubbing his length along his ass, the slick heat of it almost too much to bear.   
“Yes.” Faramir breathed out. 

A second later, he was falling back onto the bed, the weight disappearing from him entirely. 

-&-

_By Eru!_ Aragorn couldn’t grasp what was happening. The young man in front of him was captivating, but so were the Elves he had spent his early years with. Nothing, not Haldir’s touch amongst fallen leaves, not Legolas’ mouth upon him, not even the tender fingers of his beloved Arwen had felt as good as rubbing himself all over this man. 

_What witchcraft is it that makes my nerves raw when I’m close to you?_

Wondering about the answer, Aragorn let his head fall down, until his forehead pressed against the small of Mir’s back. He could feel the minute tremble that was starting just now, a slight twitching of muscles growing in strength with every passing moment. His own body was alight with sensation, the prospect of burying himself in the tight heat he knew awaited him rendering him witless. 

_No… not like this._

“Come here,” Aragorn rasped out finally, grabbing the slender body by the hips and effortlessly flipping his companion around. The young man’s eyes were wide and his lips were dark, and Aragorn couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and stealing a long, deep kiss. It brought back the fire in his own stomach and, hurriedly, he reached to the side, blindly seeking a jar of salve he had used before to ease the pain of a particularly nasty bruise on his right shoulder. 

Mir’s gaze never left his face when he applied the salve liberally, smearing it around the tight entrance, before sliding one finger inside. Only after it was fully sheathed did the young man close his eyes, his head falling back slowly, throat bared. Aragorn wasn’t one to waste an opportunity, so he dove in and feasted on the offered expanse of soft skin, enjoying the way Mir’s short stubble scratched his cheek. 

One finger turned into two, followed by a third one, and soon, Aragorn was slipping between his thighs, hoisting them up and around his waist. The young man watched him with a heavy gaze, his mouth open, small grunts of pleasure escaping unnoticed and stoking the embers glowing inside him. With a moan far louder than was wise, Aragorn lined himself up and pressed in, sliding forward until there was no space left between them. 

Holding himself still to let the young man adjust proved to be harder than fighting Orcs in the Misty Mountains, and Aragorn had to distract himself with Mir’s neck again. He was rewarded for his trouble with a few tiny noises and nails scratching down his back, and when those slender hips started to move against his own, he decided that the time for waiting was truly done and over. He moved slowly at first, afraid that whatever magic was clinging to his young companion would turn him into a beast, but encouraging moans falling from those perfect lips soon erased all his worries. 

Knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, still helplessly trying to gain some semblance of control, Aragorn sneaked one hand between them as his thrusts gained speed. It was over shortly after, with Mir muffling wild cries into his shoulder, with his seed spilling between them and prompting Aragorn do bite his collarbone to silence himself as his body gave up. A set of sky-blue eyes was the last thing on his mind as he tumbled into darkness, surprisingly strong hands keeping him close. 

-&-

When feeling flooded back into his body, Faramir found himself crushed under the weight of a very much boneless ranger. He sighed, trying to wriggle around to find a more comfortable placement for his head without disturbing the man, but his attempts seemed to have the adverse effect. Strider rose slowly, detaching himself with some difficulty, then turned around to roam with one hand next to the bed. He produced a fairly clean rag with which he wiped them both, then plopped back down on the bed, this time next to Faramir. 

The air sneaking around them was cold, and Faramir felt himself shiver. He thought about what he should do now… should he raise and walk away? Should he talk? What did one _do_ in such circumstances, when one’s body was barely cooperating and the mind was filled with the most ridiculous of fantasies? 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wonder silently for long, for in the next moment, a lean arm wrapped itself securely around his waist and a line of heat pressed against him. A strong tug, a bit of shuffling, and he was on his side, with Strider’s front warming his back. There was a huff of air, a small sigh, and a whispered word that was neither a command nor a plea.   
“Stay.”   
Faramir hummed in agreement, not yet trusting his voice completely. Feeling courageous, he let his fingers skim along the hand resting on his middle, until he could tangle them with a matching set covering his stomach. A set of lips whispered a kiss into his shoulder, and Faramir let his eyes close, drifting away into an easy sleep. 

When he woke up, it was still dark outside. He was warm and sated, a sort of laziness usually brought by a day spent doing nothing had settled in his bones, and he stretched, grinning when he felt the hard planes of a decidedly masculine body behind him. Soon, there was a tongue tracing the contours of his shoulder blade, and Faramir couldn’t help the small groan that bubbled up in his throat. Strider hummed contentedly and continued his assault, his mouth wandering up and to Faramir’s neck, making him squirm. His body was waking up again and, judging by the hardness pressing against the small of his back, he was not the only one wide awake. Curious fingers took a trip down his spine and he trembled, remembering how the evening had ended. He was still open, pliant when one of those questing fingertips pushed inside him and suddenly, the lazy arousal that was thrumming in his veins turned into flames. 

He rolled over, facing the ranger, barely able to see him in the darkness encompassing them. The sharp angle of his jaw was visible in the pale moonlight, his eyes glittering in the darkness, and Faramir _had to_ lean in and claim those delicious lips, boldly coaxing that sharp tongue out to play. With a sound that was equally surprised and delighted, Strider indulged him, pressing their bodies close together after a moment. Like this, Faramir could clearly feel just how _awake_ his companion was, and that sent a thrill down his spine, forcing a moan out of him that he couldn’t quite suppress. The ranger just smiled against his mouth, their kiss breaking for a few heartbeats spent nuzzling together in a way that reminded Faramir about cats, before Strider spoke. 

“How good are you with horses?” The question was uttered in a low voice, but there was no mistaking the passion laced through. Faramir frowned.   
“Horses?”   
“Riding.” Strider clarified, one hand traveling down and settling on Faramir’s thigh. He let it rest there for a moment, allowing his word to sink in fully, before he hitched Faramir’s leg up and over his hip, rolling them in a quick movement. He tugged Faramir along, making him sit astride his lap, their groins pressed together, Faramir’s knees hugging his sides.   
“Oh.” 

It was all he could say, especially when he looked down and took in Strider’s face, a beam of moonlight falling right onto it, illuminating the hungry expression he wore. With a shiver, Faramir moved his hips a little, moaning when the man beneath him bucked up slightly, their lengths rubbing together in a delicious way.   
“Come on, soldier.” There was laughter in Strider’s voice when he said that, but the fire in his stare only intensified. Faramir smiled, leaning in for a kiss, surprising even himself with how demanding it turned out.   
“Not a soldier,” he huffed out, shuffling forward and grabbing the salve they had discarded earlier. He covered Strider’s length with it, before he lined him up. “A _ranger.”_ He corrected, sinking down. 

-&-

“Looks like I’m not the only one who had an adventure yesterday, aye?” 

Faramir jerked awake, his eyes trying - and failing - to focus on the dark figure looming near the doorway, so sleepy he was still. He wanted to grab his sword out of instinct, but there wasn’t one near him. An arm around his waist tightened as a body shifted behind him. 

A groan.

A rustle. 

The body pulled closer. 

“Don't you have a room of your own, Baradnin?” A raspy voice asked, and Faramir realized that it wasn’t him that the question was directed at. The figure at the door laughed quietly.   
“I do. I came here to check what happened to my friend who I had found missing.” 

There was a sigh that fanned with warm breath over Faramir’s shoulder, and only now did he realize that he was still naked under the sheets. Inconspicuously, he tried to bury himself a little deeper underneath the covers. As if sensing his attempt - which he probably could feel - Strider’s arm spasmed, then dragged him backwards as the ranger’s body draped over him. It felt almost as if he was being shielded by warmth, and somehow, Faramir found it in himself to smile into the blanket covering half of his face. 

“Oh so worried were you? Was it before or after you disappeared for the whole night?” Strider grumbled. “Penig ‘ûr? I’m tired! Let us sleep, Halbarad. _Ego!”_

Faramir’s Sindarin was only good enough to decipher the last word, and somehow it put him at ease when, after being rudely told to get away, their unexpected guest just laughed again and walked out, closing the door quietly behind himself. They didn’t move for a long while, and he was almost sure that the ranger had fallen asleep again, but a small, absent-minded movement of his fingers over Faramir’s stomach proved otherwise.   
“Don’t mind him,” a quiet murmur reached his ears. “He was just checking up on me… and has no social skills, apparently.” Strider added the last bit with a chuckle and Faramir found himself smiling again. He turned around lazily, taking in the mess of dark hair and sleepy eyes gazing up at him. Not able to stop himself, he stole a kiss. 

It wasn’t anything adventurous, it wasn’t flirty - he knew well that now when Anor was crawling across the sky again, he would have to get up and make himself presentable, before he went to search for Boromir. The ranger was still there, though, kissing him back equally softly, and somehow it felt so _right_ that he didn’t want it to end. 

-&-

They parted they ways shortly after. Not even one full bell after their wake-up call, and the young man was fully dressed, his hair tamed by decided fingers, his clothes creased but not overly so. Aragorn felt a strange sensation of longing when he was to walk out of the inn’s door, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Stopping Mir in the doorway, he pushed his hand into his pocket and dug out a silver brooch. The star shined slightly in the early morning light, glinting merrily. He had taken it to the smith to be repaired, intent on keeping it as a replacement in case he lost his current one. Handing it out felt as right as kissing the young man just before they had fallen asleep the previous night.

“Here,” he murmured, “keep it. If you ever find yourself in trouble with the Rangers of the North, mention my name, and you shall find friends instead of foes, for I am known far and wide there.” 

Mir took the offered gift, his big eyes shining, and Aragorn couldn’t even tell when he pressed him into the wall behind him for one last kiss.   
“We shall meet again, _ranger,”_ he whispered when they parted. And then, with a curt nod and a soft smile, the young man was gone. With a sigh, Aragorn dragged himself to his bed to finish putting on his clothes. 

-&-

“There you are!” Boromir shouted loudly enough to wake anyone who was still sleeping at the sixth level of the city. Faramir winced, walking closer. “Where have you been? I was slightly worried, you know!” His brother admonished, but he smiled sheepishly at him. The tone of Boromir’s voice and the way he hugged him just a moment later told Faramir that he had been missed dearly and that he was never to disappear again like that.   
“You had some fun, right?” He asked, freeing himself from the bear-like embrace. Boromir raised an eyebrow at him. “Well… I had mine.” 

There was a pause, during which Faramir wondered just how his brother would react. Boromir wasn’t stupid, he knew well that if he hadn’t been able to find his little brother inside _Daisy,_ then women had not been the sort of fun he had gone for.   
“My, my…” Boromir said, then whistled wolfishly, before a mad grin spread over his face. “Come, little brother, I think you owe me a story!”   
“Aye,” Faramir chuckled, letting himself be herded back into the citadel. 

Weaving the tale wouldn’t be hard, Strider was not something he was worried about. He knew that Boromir wouldn’t mind who he bedded, just that he was safe and happy. It was that part about him not wanting to be a soldier that weighed on him more, but - feeling his brother’s arm wrapped around his shoulders - he was almost sure that it would be alright, too. 

Unnoticed by anyone, a dark figure with a silver star holding his cloak closed loomed just behind a corner. The man was smirking, but his brow furrowed curiously when he watched the two soldiers march away to the citadel gates. 

-&-

“My king!” Faramir struggled to sit upright, only to be pushed back down onto the bed, gentle hands lowering him and making sure he stayed like that.   
“Shhh… it is alright. You shouldn’t move, your body is still healing.” King Elessar admonished, but there was a warmth in his voice. The same warmth that Faramir remembered from a night so long ago, in a dark inn, in the middle of the night, coaxing him to sleep. 

So many things had happened in the meantime, so many battles won and lost, so many deaths among their friends and family… and yet here he was, Strider, the ranger that Faramir had met all those moons ago, his king now, too. _The King of Gondor._ He had just come back from a battle of the Black Gate, a victorious one, as evidenced by his tired smile and happy eyes. Faramir was surprised at just how well he had remembered them through those years spent apart. 

“I told you we shall meet again,” Elessar murmured, fingers travelling to Faramir’s hand, wrapping around it tightly.   
“I never thought…”   
“Neither did I…” The king admitted, though Faramir was not sure if they were talking about the same thing. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Aragorn was leaning in already, steadying himself on carefully placed arms, catching Faramir’s gaze and holding it. “May I?” He asked softly, and in that moment - just like for the first time he had opened his eyes again in the House of Healing - Faramir knew he would do anything the king required.   
“I am yours to command, my lord.”   
_“Aragorn.”_ The king corrected, then joined their mouths in a delicate kiss, something so tentative it made Faramir’s fingers itch to grab a handful of his blood-stained clothes and pull him closer. 

He reconsidered that wish when Aragorn drew away with a groan, a wince evident on his features, a hiss escaping him. One of his arms curled around his chest protectively and Faramir frowned, worry eating at him.   
“What is wrong?” He asked hastily, hoping it was not a serious war wound that the clothes were hiding. Aragorn shook his head hurriedly.   
“Let us just say that a troll wanted to stomp me to the ground. I do believe my ribs are bruised, but I shall recover.” He explained, but the raspiness in his voice only worried Faramir further. It was early morning, and the light falling inside the chamber made his king look pale and exhausted. 

Biting his lip, Faramir slowly moved to the side of the bed, freeing some space next to him. Aragorn smiled thankfully, then took the offered spot, lying on his side on top of the covers and - to Faramir’s delight - choosing to place his head on his right shoulder instead of on the pillow.

And if Gandalf had something to say later when he came to visit, he must have chosen to leave the matter be for the time. Rather than starting a conversation with a very much awake Faramir, the wizard grabbed the nearest blanket and covered their sleeping king, a slightly amused expression on his face making Faramir grin brightly. 

_Penig ‘ûr? - Are you heartless?_

_Ego! - Fuck off!_


End file.
